


Unexpected Part 1

by Name1



Series: Moving Forward [4]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cara's gorgeous breasts-TM, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name1/pseuds/Name1
Summary: How did he get so lucky? Did it all really start by fate, nothing more than a chance meeting on a backwater planet? For all the moments he secretly doubted The Way in the back of his mind, in the dead of night, he couldn’t help but believe it had some hand in leading him to Cara. It was too impossible not to. The galaxy was too large, and the chance of two people like them coming across one another was zero. He wonders if Cara ever thinks back to their first meeting. It’s a frequent visitor in his own mind.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Moving Forward [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648918
Comments: 22
Kudos: 96





	Unexpected Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,  
> This story follows along the timeline of my previous stories Weight, Orbit, and The Dark.  
> It will be 2 parts due to it's length. Hope you enjoy
> 
> Please forgive any spelling and grammatical mistakes. I try to catch them as they go, but I wanted to turn this out pretty fast.

Unexpected

Din slowly comes back into consciousness, but he recognizes it’s a dream almost immediately. How could it be anything other than a fantasy he’s conjured up in the dead of night? His arms are wrapped around a mostly naked Cara, who sighs contentedly when he tightens his hold on her. She’s soft and warm and pliant in the darkness and his bare face is buried so far into her neck, surrounded by her thick hair, that she’s all he can breathe in. When he kisses the back of her neck, she stirs and presses back into his touch. Dream or not, he shifts his weight slightly away from her hips and the curve of her ass, as the urge to push against her becomes nearly unbearable.

What starts to convince him this may not be a dream afterall, is the giant soft ear that flops over his face and tickles him with the tiny fuzzy hairs. That part’s not in his usual Cara dreams.

_What is that?_ _Oh yeah, right, the kid bunked down with them last night, he remembers now._ This is actually real….

Cara starts to stir, and her hands reach up to cover his own, sliding them down her chest, exactly where she wants them.

“Mmmmm,” she lets out in a deep voice equally heavy with sleep and desire, “that feels good Din…….yeah, like that,” she sighs as her hands flex over his, encouraging him to kneed large handfuls of her breasts, her flesh still so warm from sleep. She tilts her head back to reach his lips and he lets out a grunt as she slips her tongue into his mouth without much preamble after a few heated kisses, her passion for him is so real and unbelievable it consumes every inch of his brain. 

The kid, realizing she’s awake and wanting to be the center of attention, flops over her forehead, causing her to break the kiss to laugh out loud, so full of incredulity and pure joy Din can’t help but join her.

“We’ve got to work on your boundaries, little guy,” she smiles and reaches up to pet his fuzzy ears, earning her his most pleased coo. She’s getting quite fluent in their quality and pitch.

While the lower half of him agrees that they have to find a few minutes alone before they both explode, his heart can’t get any fuller with the picture the three of them they paint right now. _How did he get so lucky?_ Did it all really start by fate, nothing more than a chance meeting on a backwater planet? For all the moments he secretly doubted The Way in the back of his mind, in the dead of night, he couldn’t help but believe it had some hand in leading him to Cara. It was too impossible not to. The galaxy was too large, and the chance of two people like them coming across one another was zero. He wonders if Cara ever thinks back to their first meeting. It’s a frequent visitor in his own mind.

Sorgan- what feels like ages ago.

When he found that backwater planet to touch down on, he was only thinking of the kid. They needed to lie low and the little one needed to stretch his legs and get some fresh air, not just recycled, re-breathed oxygen.

He enters the outpost. He prides himself on being a damn good hunter, but he’s not here for that. Even still, old habits die hard and the reason he’s still standing while others have failed, is that he doesn’t let his guard down. He scans the room instantly, analyzing risks and potential exits as well as objects he can use as weapons or shields if something goes south. He doesn’t like always living like this; the paranoia, the constant living in anticipation of the worst happening, the distrust in everyone he meets, but that’s what his life has become. Now, with the kid, it’s not just him to worry about.

  
His eyes were instantly drawn to her in the corner, with a drink innocently sitting in front of her. He was drawn to her not because she was beautiful, which she was, but because he could instantly see she was like him: a warrior, a fighter, living on edge. _What was she doing here?_ The way she held herself and the stiffness in her shoulders gave her away. Her eyes scanned the room, evaluating threats, sizing up everyone who walked through the door. She obviously saw a threat in him, gave it away when she casually looked away. He kept his eyes on her until the waitress stepped into his line of sight for only a second. Then she was gone. _Damn_ …..He’d follow her, use the element of surprise to overpower her, and find out how she knew to track the kid here. What else could she be except another hunter or a mercenary after the kid?

_Shit._ He might have miscalculated this one slightly.

The blow to his chest knocked the air out of his lungs. The second blow to his head came down like a sledgehammer. Was she holding a bludgeoning weapon? _Was that actually her fist?_ His head was ringing, his brain fuzzy, as he desperately tried to keep up with her rapid body hits. Damn, she was fast and strong. He managed to get in a few hits to her stomach but before he knew it, he was knocked to the ground head-first and then she was choking him. He managed one hand around her throat, in between the plates of her armor, and his hand around her leg was enough to roll her underneath him. _Finally_ , he thought, _I have the upper hand_.

That thought went out the window when he realized he was being flipped upside down and landed on his back. He gripped down on the arm she was using to maintain her own grip on him, neither one of them willing to let go as they rolled to a stand off- blasters drawn, but no shots fired.

They were both breathing heavy, covered in dirt and staring each other down. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at her when the kid’s slurping broke the tension. She hadn’t shot him point blank- she couldn’t have been after the kid. This was one hell of a misunderstanding. _Then why had she attacked him first?_

They sat at the table, the three of them, as she sipped the soup he offered up for his misunderstanding. He finally got his first good look at the woman who thoroughly beat his ass into the ground, literally. It had been a long time since someone got the upper hand on him that fast. The part of his psyche not attached to his pride was damn impressed. It wasn’t everyday someone got the drop on him. The other part of his brain, the baser part he rarely ever used, saw her face: she was beautiful.

This was one of the rare times he was thankful for the safety his helmet provided his face. He was sure he was staring at her. She was more than beautiful, she was gorgeous. Thick, dark hair pulled back on one side, and the darkest eyes he had ever seen. He tried and failed to not look at the body in front of him. His eyes were drawn to the ink, delicate on her face and thick on the stripes of her upper arm. Her muscles were another matter altogether. He tried not to stare at the ripples of strength beneath her skin. She was strong as Hell. He’d never met a Rebellion soldier before either. _That’s what those bands meant right?_

He listened as she told her story, really listened. She thought he had a fob on her, that made sense. She was being hunted, of course she was jumpy.

“What made you go for an early retirement?”, he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. She seemed kind enough, though clearly unused to talking to people. She was being open with him, but he knew he was just scratching the surface. He couldn’t fault her self-preservation.

She responds easily enough. “Let's just say the New Republic’s priorities no longer aligned with mine,” she said cryptically. “They wanted to move forward into a new era of peace, _like that would ever be possible_ ,” she scoffed, “and I wanted to make the Empire pay every day- day after day for the rest of my natural life, one dead Imp at a time”.

He nodded, “I have no love for the Empire either”. He left it at that.

  
“Why are you on the run?” “Before you say you’re not, why else would you be on this shithole of a planet. You must be wanted by either the Empire or the Republic. Which one is it?”

“Why can't it be both?”, she quipped back at him, not entirely joking.

“Did you desert?”

Her whole demeanor changed instantly. Her face drew together harshly, and her mouth straightened into a tense straight line. Her fists were clenched when she hissed at him.

She points her finger right at his face and says through her clenched teeth, “you ever say that _word_ in front of me again and you'll regret it”.

“I regret it already,” he said instantly. _He’s offended her and he hadn’t meant to._ He really didn’t talk to people much and it showed.

“I apologize, I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything. Perhaps my word choice was poor. I didn’t realize that word had such a negative connotation for you, truly”.

  
“I didn't leave my men behind. _That’s_ what it means to desert. I would rather die before I let them down. They all got out, and I just didn't show up to my next assignment. I went in a different direction, forged my own path. I was tired of being told where to go and who deserved to be saved or murdered based on political strategy. Now, I decide who is good and who's bad now, me! I decide what rules to live my life by, the ones that let me almost sleep at night. If you want me to say I regret it, you'll be waiting a Hell of a long time. I won't ever say those words”.

  
  
“You made a decision that was best for you that not everyone understood. I get it. You have to do what sits right with you, regardless of what everyone is telling you is right. You have to believe in the code in which you live by. I'm actually jealous of your ability to choose, I’m struggling with something similar on a daily basis”. He was in a unique position to understand her moral struggle and her choices, but he could never explain that in a few sentences to someone he just met.

She seemed to relax slightly, and they changed the subject to the resources around Sorgan, what was available during the current season, and the local credit exchange rate.

After another 15 minutes of easy conversation had passed, he still felt guilty he had run his big mouth and accidentally insulted her. “I wanted to apologize again for what I said earlier”.

She seemed surprised at his apology. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat. I guess it’s more of sensitive subject than I thought”.

She seemed thoughtful for a moment, looking down, where before she had met his eyes for the entirety of the conversation. She seemed to reach a conclusion to her inner thoughts and stood up.

“Well, this certainly has been a real treat. Thanks for the soup, but unless you want to go for round 2, there’s only room for one of us and I was here first,” she smirked as she walked away.

Damn, what a day. _Who was this woman?_

Cara walked outside and made her way around the side of the building. What the hell just happened in there? How did she end up spilling chunks of her life story to a total stranger, and a Mandalorian at that. She had never seen so much armor on a person before, so many weapons. He seemed strong yet weighed down by it at the same time.

He was nothing like what she expected. He was a hunter, a strong fighter, but also kind and soft spoken. He traveled with a baby. In one second he was throwing flames at her, then moments later she had watched as he used a napkin to gently wipe drops of soup off the little one’s chin. What kind of an enigma what this man, this stranger? When’s the last someone genuinely apologized her for upsetting her?

She didn’t know what drew her to him like a magnet, but she wished she had met him years ago, before she was so damaged, so beyond repair. Maybe they could have been friends if she still had anything good left in her to give to anyone. She had never found it so easy to talk with anyone before. Oh well, she’ll likely never see him again.

That thought made her uneasy. _Not sad_. Definitely, not sad. That had to be the wrong word. _That’s ridiculous, she couldn’t be sad about losing someone she just met right?_ _  
  
_

………………………………..

He doesn’t know what makes him find her by her campfire in the middle of the night. To be honest, the simplest answer was that he wanted to see her again. If he had to provide another reason, it would be that he wants to give her a safe place to lodge for a while. She was a veteran shock trooper, and a dropper at that, she shouldn’t be sleeping on the forest floor. It didn’t sit right with him. She fought the Empire in a visceral, bloody, up-close way he only dreamed of. Not only did he like her but he respected her, a rare combination for someone like him.

He also could sense in her the need, the want, to be a part of something again, to feel needed and useful. He understood the need to be valued, to be seen as someone acting as a force for good, especially with all the shit they each had haunting their pasts. Perhaps this could provide some absolution for them both. The two of them could take down whatever was plaguing this small remote village, he had no doubt. She was so like him; he had never met anyone like her before. The fact that he got to be around her and get to know her more in the meantime, was just a bonus.

He’s not surprised at all by the speed of the reflex when she whips her blaster straight to his face from what appeared to be a deep sleep. He’d wager good credits that she probably didn’t sleep deeply at all anymore.

He knows it isn’t the insignificant sum of money he throws at her side that convinces her to come with him. She genuinely looks pleasantly surprised to see him. Her eyes lit up at the mere mention of a fight and developing a strategy. He could practically feel the heat in her blood, calling to his own, at the thought. He wonders if she feels the same instant connection he did. He guesses he’ll find out soon.

………………..

As she leaned back, her shoulders resting tensely against the rail of the hovercraft, she looked over at the Mandalorian as he asks her a question. He hates small talk, but the tension is killing him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my name is?” he asks her, puzzled that she hasn’t started in on the long line of invasive questions everyone always asks him about being a Mandalorian, his Creed, his helmet, his beliefs.

“Nope,” she replied. “If you wanted me to know, you would have told me. I’ve been in a hell of a lot of fights because of my big mouth,” her grin lights up the night. “I’m not going to ask you anything I get the feeling you don’t want to answer”.

Several minutes go by before she speaks again with mischief in her voice, “buuuut” she stretched out the word, “I do have other questions if you’re game”

She asks him about the improvements of the new 280 blaster that just came out, and how he thinks it compares to the 270A. She asks him about other mundane ridiculous things, like if he had to ride either a bantha or a dewback, which would he pick and why. Her questions put him at ease and encourage him to keep talking, he even finds himself huffing out a laugh or two as the night stretches on. Her questions are easy. It’s such a nice change.

“You travel deep space pretty frequently right?”, she continues as they move on to the topic of space.

“Yes, almost exclusively,” he replies.

“Have you ever seen the Orion nebula? It’s supposed to be pretty spectacular”.

“No, but I’ve seen the Eagle nebula up close and the Crab nebula and M2-9 from a distance. Why do you ask?”

“When I was a kid I always wanted to see it. I’ve never met anyone who has in all my travels”.

She changes topics again sensing the last one naturally petered out, “okay then, tell me what’s your least favorite planet you ever visited,” she says conversationally. He’s surprised at how this doesn’t feel like an interrogation and just a conversation between friends.

“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’ll even go first, that’s an easy one. This one time I had to go to this real shithole, you wouldn’t even believe……….” He listened to her voice, until it he found himself drifting in and out of sleep.

…………………..

Hours had gone by traveling through the night. They had pretty much talked the entire time, something he would have thought impossible for him. He never talked to anyone like this. He got the feeling she was not usually this open either.

“Why didn’t you take off my helmet when I was on the ground, you had your hands around my neck and everything”.

 _“Everyone_ knows you don’t take off a Mandalorian’s helmet. I’ve never run across one before though. I was surprised to see you walk into the outpost”.

“You took me by surprise outside, I can’t tell you the last time someone managed to surprise me,” he chuckled.

Cara surprised him with her humor, her grace, her strength, her patience, her instant Camaraderie, her cheeky demeanor that made him want to open up to her, made him feel like he could. He felt like he could trust her……. she was so like him. He was looking forward to working together to help this village return to a semblance of peace.

………………………………

They discovered the tracks of the AT-ST easily enough. They both crouched down together to get a better look. Getting up together in perfect synchrony, he wondered if she even noticed.

He never felt the urge to stare at anyone before. It had been so ingrained into him not to pay too close of attention, don’t ask too many questions, remain completely unaffected. It wasn’t guild protocol to ask questions or to get involved. He found himself staring at her when she was distracted cleaning her blaster. He knew she couldn’t see him through the visor, but one corner of her mouth would turn up at the corner and her knowing smile was so smug, his cheeks flushed and he had to look away, usually just past her so it appeared he was looking at something in the distance. _How the hell did she do that?_

Both of them seemed pretty lousy at talking, but their actions, their synchrony in fighting spoke for itself. He could tell she was just as puzzled as he was _. Who was this woman?_

He felt protective of her for some strange reason. She was undoubtedly the strongest woman he had ever met, but he didn’t want to leave her here when he moved on.

Just how long ago had she taken to retirement? She still lived and breathed like a soldier, the soft footfalls, the ability of her eyes to look for blind spots in the most confusing of locations.

…………………….

The layout of their days had some natural order, while they prepared for the village’s standoff.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so much. What was this weird feeling in his chest? It was so _easy_. He felt so normal, not an outsider looking in. It wasn’t just the armor that created this impenetrable barrier between himself and everyone else. Sometimes he liked to believe it was. If the armor was gone, maybe he would have made friends easily, but he knew that wasn’t true. His crippling social anxiety paired with his experiences of getting close to others for them to either die to walk away, made it impossible to form any real bonds with anyone.

But Cara didn’t seem to care about the armor or the helmet. She wasn’t doing mental calculations to calculate the wholesale price by the ounce of the beskar he was wearing. He didn’t think she cared about the cost she could get by stripping him of it and selling it on the black market. She didn’t seem to think it made him any less human, any less of a person, any less of a man. He was just a man who wore some armor with damn good integrity. She could appreciate the practicality of it, as a only a fellow fighter could. She didn’t needle him about his helmet, about taking it off, nor did she awkwardly try to pretend it wasn’t there. She just looked at him totally without prejudice. The practical side of her just saw a guy wearing armor that fit his occupation.

That’s not to say she wasn’t curious. She knew nothing of The Way and asked him plenty of questions. But she never ridiculed him or laughed at his beliefs. It was just curiosity. A desire to better understand the man she felt such an easy bond with.

“Who am I to question someone else’s creed they choose to live by?”, cara asked with a seriousness she rarely displayed, “everyone does they best they can. It’s obviously worked pretty well for you so far, you’re still alive right? As far as I’m concerned, if it makes you happy, then keep doin’ what you’re doin’”.

“What about you?” he asked back to her, trying to hide just how much her heartfelt and honest words affected him.

“Me?” She let out a harsh laugh. “Me? I’m a complete mess. I’m not sure what I believe in anymore. I’m almost jealous you make it sound so easy,” she trailed off.

She didn’t seem like a mess to him. She seemed open, maybe slightly damaged (by what, he didn’t know), but so wholly _good_ he felt a pang of sympathy for the look she wore now. 

Usually by now he was on the defensive either refusing to answer questions or getting downright angry in his clipped responses, but he found he liked talking about The Way with her. She listened, digested what he was saying, and only replied when she felt confident that she understood the concept. He could tell she was assimilating what he was saying and trying to see it from another perspective. Her responses were thoughtful, witty, and yet showed a surprising depth, like she just sat around conversing about philosophy with a stranger every day. That term didn’t see right, _was he still a stranger now?_

They’d greet each other in the mornings, and naturally gravitate to the porch to sit side by side as the sun rose over the trees. Then once they both got the sleep out of their eyes, they’d walk a perimeter around the village, often in silence, but increasingly often, filling the silence with running commentary about the vegetation they saw or small stories or anecdotes that came to mind. He found these walks were the highlight of his day. He felt stifled surrounded by all the people in the village, and getting away from it all with someone who was the closest thing he had to a friend was a relief. 

In contrast to their relaxing mornings, Cara insisted they kept up their skills in the afternoon. Whether it was target practice, sparring, or full-contact fighting, she never held back. Punches were never pulled, and she never “let” him win to soothe his ego. He had never been so gracious in losing _anything_ before. He had a competitive nature that got him in trouble numerous times in the past, and he got a thrill whenever he managed to get one over on her. Their competitiveness wasn’t nasty or combative, but good natured and almost playful if not intense at the same time. They had both learned each other weakness in a fight (though she had few to work with), a weakness that should have made him uneasy, but didn’t for some reason. He’d also be lying if he said he didn’t learn a few moves from her he wanted to try in the future. She was skilled at positioning an opponent where she wanted them, instead of having to move herself into a good position. 

  
He had never _looked_ at a woman like this before either. And more than that, he was even more shamed because he respected this woman and fought alongside this woman; felt connected to this woman and would bash in the skull of any other man who dared look at her like he was right now.

  
_It's not ogling_ , he convinces himself, _it’s simply respecting the perfectly honed body of a warrior_. There was no harm admiring beauty. She worked hard for it and she should be proud. That body fought for freedom, defended innocent people. Life had so little beauty in it, he almost felt he owed it to the universe to admire it. He was drawn to it. 

It was no different than looking at a sunset, radiant and warm and beautiful, or watching powerful waves crashing on a beach, or watching the dunes shift on a desert planet, admiring the gentle slopes and curves and how they moved throughout the day. It was no different than admiring a well-tuned blaster, deadly and sleek, and great in a fight. And if he kept finding his eyes drawn to her breasts, then that was just by chance. He couldn’t be held responsible for his eyes being drawn to such a perfect part of her. Why couldn’t she be even slightly ugly instead? It would have made things so much easier. He wouldn’t have lost hours of his life admiring her curves if she were. He thought about the curve of her hips, her chest, her shoulders, her cheeks, her amazing smile…… _he was so screwed_.  
  
  
  
He admires her skill too, that is without a doubt. She’s an excellent teacher as they sit in _their_ open field they use every day. It’s grassy and soft, and far enough from the village, they don’t have to worry about being seen or heard.

“What you’re doing wrong is this.... Your using your hips, where you should be using your legs, where the real muscle is. Let me get on top of you and I'll show you,” she suggests. She’s trying to demonstrate how she easily flipped him over, despite his weight and position. She moves to perfectly mirror of their first fight. She kneels beside him and puts her hands to his throat as if she was about to choke him.

She starts explaining, “the most important thing is if you know you’re about to lose the advantage to not lose your head. When you know you’re about to be flipped on you back, make sure you control how you fall, and where your legs are. Here, grab my leg and roll me under you” He does, and then she stops him as he rests over her and signals him to look down at her legs.

“Look down, see how my one leg is across my other one. That’s how you maintain the advantage. You have to get the other person where _you_ want them, all the while making it seem like _they_ maneuvered _you_. It’s less about controlling your own body, and more about remembering how you can control theirs. They think they’re in control, but you’re actually one step ahead. I kept my stronger leg across the less dominant one you when you rolled me, _knowing_ I could use the angle to throw you off. Now it’s your turn. Show me what you got,” she finished with a smirk that he does not let distract him.

She lies down and moves his hands to her throat to mimic their earlier pose, their positions switched. He tried not to think about the sick feeling he feels at someone trying to choke her. He kneels beside her and pretends to put pressure on her windpipe, as he would in an actual fight, and she grabs his leg to flip him. He tried to get one leg out in front, but he wasn’t fast enough.

She stops and he’s expecting her to make fun of him and braces himself for the embarrassment. Instead she simply says, “let’s try it again, slower this time, so I can walk you through it”. They get back into position and when she grabs his leg to roll them over, this time he manages to cross his right leg slightly over her left at the last second. When she raises her hand to strike, he pushes up, using the strong muscle of his thigh to flip her upwards. He doesn’t manage to get her all the way over, but she lets out an excited noise anyway, genuinely happy for his success. Her smile is infectious. He feels it spread through him.

“That was good,” she says excitedly, “you almost did it. It takes practice, it’s not a muscle group you use all the time. At the very least, you can now displace your opponent enough to get them off of you”.

He takes a minute to stretch his legs then turns to her again.

“I want to try again. I can do better”.

“Ok,” she says and gets into position. They go again, and again, having to start and stop because they keep laughing good-naturedly when one of them missteps. They’re just having fun now, sparring for the sheer enjoyment of it. She can’t remember a time where she spent so much time with someone with no ulterior motive, other than to enjoy each other’s company, to simply have _fun_.

By the time he manages to flip her for real, he’s sweating, and his thigh muscles are burning with use and stress, but his whole body is vibrating with energy. He realizes with confusion and maybe a hint of regret that the sun us already going down. He’s not ready to call it a day. He doesn’t want to go back to their separate sleeping quarters yet, so he stalls.

“If I ever find myself on the other end of it again, what’s the best way to counter it?” he asks.

“That’s an easy one, you just wrap your leg around mine, then I can’t throw you without bringing all your weight down on me.”

“You want to try it?”, she offers, “it’s not dark yet”.

“Yeah, let’s do it, “he agrees, a little too fast to come across as casual as he would like.

He doesn’t want to admit to himself and definitely not her, that he’s isn’t looking forward to going back to the village and facing another night with just his thoughts to fill the silence. It’s strange, he has never felt lonely before, but now he’s realizing how much he has missed having someone there, someone he enjoys being around and who enjoys being around him. How much things have changed in such a short time…

This time when she tries to flip him, he presses his weight down on her, and locks one ankle around the back of her leg. When she tries to throw him, she can’t manage it and she just ends up wriggling and squirming under him, their legs locked together, until she manages an elbow in his ribs that allows her an out.

They walk back to the edge of the village joking about some of the lamest fighters they have ever faced up against. She’s a good storyteller, and he finds himself becoming uncharacteristically animated telling his own tales, just to keep her laughing. It’s as addicting as any drug. Several times they end up sharing a good-natured elbow jab when one of them tells a particularly lame joke, and their shoulders bump together companionably when one of them shares a story the other one can identify with. It’s _nice_. It’s _easy_. It scares the hell out of him, _what exactly is he doing_? _What does he think or hope will happen if he sees this thorough?_

He picks up the kid, and heads to his lodging but doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep tonight. When he closes his eyes, he just hears her laughter, sees her crooked smirk that ignites a fire in his belly, feels her body writhing under his and he holds her down as they spar. Remembering the feel of her above him, straddling his waist to immobilize him, makes him feel uncomfortably warm, despite the coolness of the night air. He tries not to linger on the shape of her mouth or the darkness of her eyes. Tries not to think about the ripple of her muscles beneath her pale, perfect skin as she arches and stretches.

He saw a sliver of her belly when her shirt rode up earlier, and he lost all ability to form words. He wonders what his name, _his real name_ , would sound like on her lips when she’s breathing heavy. _Shit_ , he’s too wound up to sleep and he’s _absolutely not_ going to engage in the one activity he knows will relieve his stress and unbearable tension. She is his _friend_ , and he refuses to dishonor her by imagining her face or her body while he touches himself. _Absolutely not._ The other part of his brain that looks at hear and yearns asks, ‘what’s the problem’? It’s just relieving tension, and tension isn’t healthy. It’s just his hand afterall……. no harm done.

Cara climbs into her bed after stripping off her clothes. The air is cool, but her body is on fire. Every nerve ending is hyper-aware and she’s never felt so over-sensitized in her life. The lightest brush of the cloth sheets against her skin has her twisting and turning trying to relieve the warm ache in her belly. She likes Mando, and despite his no-nonsense attitude, she’s fairly certain her likes her too. They’re _friends_ , that’s all. They enjoy each other’s easy company and complement each other in battle, and wits, and experience, and humor. That doesn’t mean she’s attracted to him, _right_?

Right?

_Absolutely not._

How could she be? She’s never seen his face, and never really seen his body.

But she’s felt him under her and top of her, heard his heavy breathing after their morning run, smelled his sweat clinging to him after they really push each other in hand-to-hand combat. She’s laughed with him, more than she can ever remember laughing before. His voice is like nothing she has ever heard, his breathy chuckle goes right to her gut every time. She lives for the moments she gets him to laugh.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to walk out of the outpost, belly full of soup, and never think of this mysterious Mandalorian who defied every preconceived notion she has about his people. He was kind. He was honorable. His body felt amazing, moving in perfect sync with hers.

Then, things changed. She was supposed to get rid of the raiders, collect her lunch money and return to the base camp. But now she’s been in the village for weeks. Why does the thought of leaving now fill her with dread? In the past, _before him_ _and that green bean_ , the thought of staying in one place filled her with dread, now it was the opposite.

She has to sleep. That is a must. But there’s no harm in running one of her hands down her body, letting it roam where it wants, where she needs it the most. _It’s her own body for star’s sakes._ And if she closes her eyes, and imagines it’s his hand instead, then that’s no one’s business but hers.…..

 _Just for a minute. One minute can’t hurt right?_ She’s coiled with tension and that’s not healthy. It’s just her hand afterall…… no harm done.

They both start their morning with their usual routine. She can’t believe the heat that crawls up her cheeks when he asks if she was comfortable last night. She’s absolutely _indignant_ over the lack of control she has over her own body. During the day they work in separate parts of the village, which is probably for the best. She needs a break to gather herself. She busies herself helping the farmers harvest a crop of purple feathery grass they will use for weaving baskets. The pollen is thick in the air and she feels it coating her skin. When she sees Mando again, she’s sitting on the porch with the kid in her lap.

“Thought you don’t do the baby thing,” he quips at her, smiling a smile under his helmet he wishes she could see. He frequently worries she will misinterpret his words, without seeing his face to tell if he’s joking. She’s never let him down yet though. It’s almost as if she can see right through him, like he wasn’t covering his face at all. He’s not sure whether to be relieved or concerned by this discovery.

“I don’t, but in case you hadn’t noticed, this kid does what he wants”. The kid lets out a chirp in agreement. He definitely knows way more than he lets on.

Din lets out a quiet laugh, “I have noticed that. He can be quite insistent, let me tell you”.

“He’s lucky he’s so cute,” she concedes with a smile. She lightly strokes down the downy softness of his ears.

The kid looks as pleased as Din’s ever seen him, sitting in Cara’s lap with her arms around him to keep him from falling.

“He likes you,” Din says softly, as he stares at the picture they make.

“He has great taste, what can I say?”

She points to two drinks on the small table between them. “I brought you back a drink. I’m going to head to bed early, my head is killing me. I’m not cut out to be a gardener, that’s for sure”. She stands and stretches, still holding the kid.

“Thank you, I’ll take it inside and drink it.”

“You know what you need?”, she asks, “you need a straw”.

“A straw?”

“Yes, a straw, it’s a long hollow tube. You put your mouth on one end and the other end goes into liquid. Then you create negative pressure and pull the liquid up to your mouth.”

He huffs at her, “I know what a straw is, smartass”.

“Just making sure,” she grins sharp as a knife, “it would solve so many of your problems. You could share a drink in anyone’s presence if you wanted to”.

“I’ve tried it. A metal straw under the helmet doesn’t work, I can’t bend it to go in my mouth”.

“Get a silicone one, they’re very flexible, easy to clean. It’s just a suggestion”. _Maybe they could share a drink together one day,_ she thinks.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Thank you”. He had honestly never thought of that. _Silicone, huh?_ He’d look into it. _Maybe they could share a drink together one day._

“Good night Mando, see you in the morning”. She stands and deposits the cute fuzzy kid into his arms and turns to her quarters.

“Goodnight Cara”.

……………….

Din wakes up the next morning, looking forward to watching the sun come up from the porch. If he was honest with himself, he also looks forward to sitting with Cara in the stillness of the morning. They’re both warriors, but its uncanny how much they both appreciate quiet moments.

When he gets to the porch and finds it empty, he’s confused. Did he sleep in or wake up early? He and Cara wake at almost the exact same time every day. He waits almost half an hour before he hesitantly walks to her door and knocks three times.

A soft “come in” answers him and he peeks his head inside. _He’s not worried about her. He’s not._

She’s still in bed, covered with blankets.

“I didn’t see you outside. You ok?”

She lets out a pathetic sounding grunt that’s not convincing at all. “I’m fine.”

“You sick?” Din asks.

“No, absolutely not, I don’t get _sick_. Just some reaction to the pollen from yesterday I think”.

He moves closer to the bed until he’s right beside her. Her eyes are sleepy and unfocused, it makes his chest hurt in a weird way. _What is this feeling?, he asks himself._ He slowly takes of his glove without saying anything. Her eyes focus on his bare hand and he uncovers it. She’s sees the color of his skin and the texture of his knuckles, his elegant and strong fingers. She’s drawn to the dark hair on the back of his hand, she wants to touch it and feel its texture.

“What are you doing?” she asks. “Am I allowed to see you without your glove?”

“I’m just seeing if you have a fever, and yes to your second question, so you don’t have to worry”. He touches the skin on her forehead with the front and then the back of his hand. She shuts her eyes involuntarily at the feeling of his bare skin on hers. He’s so warm….and real……and human. His hands are so strong and yet soft at the same time. Of course they are, they’re a part of him and that’s the epitome of who he is.

“Are you itchy?”, he asks.

“No. Just drained, like I'm moving in slow motion”.

“I think you just need to sleep it off. Do you need any water or food?” 

She scoffs at his offer, despite how kind she finds it. She's never accepted pity or charity and she’s not about to start now.

“I don't need a nurse maid,” she says, not directly answering the question.

“Do look like a nurse maid to you?” When he sees a smirk crawl up the side of her mouth, he cuts her off, “don’t answer that. I almost walked right into that one”.

“Cara,” he sighs, “look, don’t worry about your pride, I'm doing this for me, not you”.

She looks at him skeptically.

“I need a sparring partner who can hit me hard enough to actually motivate me to fight back without pulling my punches. Right now, you don't look like would fare too well standing off against me.

“Why don't you come closer and find out”? she says threateningly but without any malice, smiling up at him the whole time.

“No thanks, I like my head attached to my shoulders,” he replies cheekily. She takes a breath and finally concedes, “I guess some water wouldn't be terrible”.

He laughed out loud. “You're almost as stubborn as I am”.

“Don't insult a sick person. If you’re _insisting_ _and badgering_ , water wouldn’t be too awful if you happened to come across some”.

“I'll be back later. Go back to sleep”. He turns to leave, in search of a cup to fill with water.

  
As he reaches the door, he hears her voice, soft and uncertain say, “I owe you one”. He can’t tell if she meant for him to hear it or not. He knows her pride is as real as his own, so for her to utter those words, she must have been really moved.

“No…… you actually don't,” he insisted, “that's what friends do, or so I've heard rumor of” he says in a self-deprecating tone.

“I wouldn't really know,” she said, looking down and to the left, away from him.

“Me neither, but I do know you don't owe me anything. If anything, it's the other way around,” he said cryptically. He was in her debt for her honesty, her friendship, her absolution of his choices that he struggled with on his own for ages.

He returns hours later. “I brought you some water and came to check you were still alive,” playing down his worry with an air of nonchalance.

“You look much better already……I mean,…….not to say you don't always look good……. I mean _nice_ , like normal …….healthy…… stumbling over his words. She smiled the first real smile he saw since yesterday. She put him out of his misery, “I know what you're trying to say. You don't have to try to compliment me, I know I look terrible right now, but you’re very kind. I probably look a complete mess”.

“That's impossible,” it’s out of his mouth before he even knows he formed the words.

“You know you're beautiful”

“What?”, She pauses before continuing.

“Do you really think I'm”…..She pauses again……. “beautiful?”.

He heart had taken up residence in her throat as she waited for his answer. Was he admitting he was attracted to her? Did he feel a fraction of the magnetic pull she felt toward him?

“Cara, I….”, he starts again, “Cara, you know I---" He had moved right beside her, less than an arm’s length away.

A knock at the door startled them both and they jumped. It was just one of the villagers bringing some clean linens and a new bar of soap.

“Half of the day is already over, the sun will be going down soon. I shouldn’t have bothered you while you’re resting, I'll see you in the morning”.

The delicate spell that surrounded them a minute ago was broken and she did the best she could to regain her footing, but she still felt raw waiting to find out if what she felt was two-sided.

“Prepare to get your ass kicked, Mando. Actually, make it double since I was out of commission today”.

  
“Wouldn't miss it,” he replied, falling back into their natural rhythm.

  
“Keep talking shit, see how that’s going for you when you're on your back looking up at me”.

  
That was a visual he didn't need before he went to bed alone. He was already ashamed to admit how many of his dreams featured her, and certainly not in a purely friendly or platonic way. In his dreams, he knew what his name sounded like from her lips, from deep in her throat, and as part of her gasping sigh.

  
“You're full of shit dune. Your mouth is going to get you in trouble one day”.

  
“I certainly hope so Mando”. She loved setting him up to get a reaction out of him.

He had to retreat. The fighter in him cringed, but the man in him knew what the stakes were.

“Good night, see you tomorrow. Feel better”. He closes the door and breathes a sigh of relief. He’s glad he left before he could embarrass himself further. Even sick, she came at him so fast with the banter, the flirtatious comments, the innuendo, that he wasn’t sure he could keep up. This was so new to him. He didn’t want to mess it up.

As soon as the door closed, she too, breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to mess this up. Being so close to him, was making her head dizzy in a way completely irrespective of the pollen. He made her feel like her skin was on fire when he wasn’t even touching her.

  
  


The next day she's back, strong, confident, and full of attitude as she puts him on his back over and over. “Let’s practice the flip again, it’s been a while, and I want to make sure I get the muscle memory,” he suggests.

“You know, the more I think about it,” she pauses to grace him with a sparkling smile, “I’m not sure how I feel spilling all my trade secrets. You planning to use them against me one day?”, she asks jokingly.

“If it means I win one of our fights, _Absolutely_ ”. He wishes he could convey to her the smile he wore when he teased her.

“You fight dirty Mando, I like it. Before you get your beskar in a twist, I don't mean you don't fight with honor. You can be honorable, and still use every trick you have to stay alive.”

“It’s okay. I understand what you were trying to say. I didn't think you were insulting me. And for the record,” his voice dropped slightly in pitch, “you fight dirty too”.

She puts a hand to her chest, like she was too touched for words and said, “that's the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” her mocking tone clear in her voice.

“Shut up Dune. Get ready to lose.”

To be continued in part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 will be up soon.  
> Thank you for reading. Please leave me a comment if you enjoyed it :D  
> thank you all!


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